


An Echo, A Stain

by Pandir



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Ties of Lapis
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, War Era, lodr is so gay for ingrith and everything hurts, military setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I know our antebellum innocence</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Was never meant to see the light of our armistice day.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Calvindile's [Ties of Lapis](http://ties-of-lapis.tumblr.com/) books!   
> I'm just poking at the many possibilities that could be Lodr's and Ingrith's adventures in the Great War.
> 
> This is a birthday present for Umi, the president of the Lodrith support group where we both cry about way too fine ToL ladies and awkward beautiful crushes and horrible, horrible heartbreak. ♥ 
> 
> (Not entirely finished, a bit more gayness and some aftermath will follow asap :3)

Lodr had always known how to wound people. She was well aware what damage a few well-placed words could do, with the right leverage behind them. Ever since she was little, she had wielded her tongue with just as much precision as she shot her arrows. The refined skill of archery had always been one of her passions, as she relished in the satisfaction of hitting the mark, but she had never been much of a warrior. Her education had focused on rethoric and leading qualities rather than brute force.

Then, the Aldmeri Dominion brought war upon the Empire, and all Nord who could bear arms were called to the front lines. Lodr had thought herself capable enough, and she had been full of pride to defend her homeland and the peace and culture of the Empire against the invaders. Wartime could be an opportunity, her parents had assured her, and she knew she had the strategic mind to ascend the ranks.

After all the months that the Imperial army had been holding their ground, the ongoing battles had marred the green hills of Cyrodiil and many of its cities were but burning ruins, yet the tide had now turned with the reinforcements from Skyrim.

There was no easy victory, however. Every bit of land was reclaimed at a great cost, and glorious battle turned out to be massacre. Lodr knew that a soldier’s life mattered little, and that even a hundred were a loss to be expected, but victory tasted not as sweet as she rode over scathed hills littered with torn bodies, burnt and slain, her ears still ringing with the screams of the bleeding and dying.

*

“Ah, another fellow Nord!”, a loud voice cut through the drunken noise at the eve of another victorious battle. They were gaining ground, and some Cyrodillic wine to celebrate the victory did wonders for the morale. Lodr had been nipping at her mug with less enthusiasm than most, as her palate was used to a more refined taste, before she had been interrupted by the bold woman striding towards her.

Lodr raised her eyebrows at this unrefined greeting, yet she got up and politely extended her hand.

“Lodr Scar-Lip, and it is my pleasure.”

The woman’s grip on her arm was strong as she clasped it to greet her.

“Ingrith Fierce-Heart.” She grinned, and her roughly cut face brightened. “Scar-Lip, eh? Thought you looked familiar!”

The name Fierce-Heart was known to Lodr, of course. It was an honoured family with a tradition of sword-smiths and warriors that the Scar-Lips were well-acquainted with.

'Ingrith', however, was less easily placed. But when Lodr studied the smile more closely, something about the brightness of the steely blue eyes did stir her memories. It had to have been many winters ago, yet she vaguely remembered a wild tousle-head of blond hair and a challenging grin, irrevocably tied to memories of playing outside until she had dirt on her dress and bruises on her arms. The Fierce-Hearts must have paid a few courtesy visits back in the day, but Lodr had been so very young and her parents had frequently entertained guests, so her recollection was somewhat hazy.

“Ingrith”, she said, now with recognition in her voice, and she thought of whispered tales in the dark of the attic, fingers sticky with honey. Lodr had always known how to acquire sweets from the kitchen with an impeccable politeness and a smile. 

As far as Lodr could tell, Ingrith had changed quite a lot. The rather lanky girl she believed to remember had grown into a tall woman of strong built, her jaw broad and her gaze fierce, and she filled her armour with such naturalness, she might as well have been born with it.

Lodr did accept Ingrith’s invitation to drink with her and her husband, a Redguard warrior of equally impressive statue, and listened to her impressions of their companions and their chances in the war. Yet as it became unmistakably clear that this had been Ingrith’s first day on the battlefield, Lodr could not help but to meet Ingrith’s enthusiasm with a wry smile and a good bit of sceptic realism.

They all started out like this, bright-eyed and hungry for glory. But Lodr had seen many a young, eager warrior die a wretched, unsung death, and she had seen how bright eyes turned dull after their first real taste of battle. It was best to keep a distance and not get attached.

If Ingrith did not believe her now, she would soon enough.


	2. But a Scratch

Ingrith was strapping image of a true Nord warrior, wielding her sword with ease and deadly precision, and Lodr’s fear that mercy and noble streak would hinder her turned out to be unfounded. Ingrith did not hold back.

Her only weakness was her concern about the ones fighting with her. She fought fiercely, throwing herself into battle with such an utter disregard for her own safety that it was a miracle she made it out alive and mostly unscathed. Not even her husband could keep up with her, though they often fought side by side, until Ingrith charged forward.

Lodr had more than once shaken her head at such a lack of tactic. She always kept her position, on horseback and armed with both sword and bow, in a measured distance to the frontline, but close enough to strike.  
Yet she could not help keeping an eye out for a tall figure with fair hair swinging her sword with reckless abandon, and if Ingrith found herself in a tight spot, Lodr’s arrows swiftly found their mark, granting Ingrith a moment to recover.

*

“If you charge in headfirst, you will not last long”, Lodr chided her as she found Ingrith at the sleeping tents, cleaning a few cuts and a nasty gash on her arm seemed to be bleeding rather badly. 

Ingrith looked up to her, dirt still caked in her hair. She had barely taken her armour off. Lodr assumed she had helped dragging back the injured until the injury on her arm had taken its toll on her.

“What a coward would I be if I let my shield brothers and sisters take a blow for me?”, Ingrith said without hesitation, her eyes clear like the cold winter sky, and Lodr found that she was way more concerned about this answer than she should have been. “On the battle-field, we have to watch each other’s backs.”

“That is short-sighted”, Lodr cut in, and the force behind her voice surprised her. She cleared her throat, and added in a more measured tone: “It would be a pity to lose a skilled swordswoman such as you.”

To Lodr's dismay, Ingrith had begun wrapping a bit of cloth rather haphazardly around her arm to stop the bleeding and apparently thought that sufficient.

“Don’t you worry about me”, she said good-naturedly, got up and laid a hand on Lodr's shoulder, as if she needed reassuring.

The stench of death and blood was still about her. Lodr thought she had gotten used to it, but for some reason, it did still unsettle her as she looked at Ingrith’s crooked smile.

“Your wound is not adequately dressed”, Lodr said, as her eyes settled on the already blossoming dark red stains on Ingrith’s bandaged upper arm. “A healer should see this.”

“It’s just a scratch”, Ingrith said with a dismissive pat on her wounded arm. “I’ve had worse.”

Lodr did not appreciate people talking back to her like this, and she did not appreciate Ingrith’s blatant carelessness, either.

“And I have seen people succumbing to wound fever over less”, she said very pointedly. “I will get ointment, and then we will do this properly.” There was a commanding air in her voice that left little room for protest. “I think that has been quite enough noble heroism for today, don't you agree?”

Ingrith did not seem to mind the sarcasm, and she did not protest. Instead, she let herself be led by Lodr, who had placed her hand very delicately on Ingrith’s elbow, into a crowded tent where the injured were being tended to by a handful of priests and alchemists. Lodr ushered Ingrith to sit down, undeterred by the many soldiers sitting or lying on the mats on the ground, still awaiting treatment.

Lodr was no healer, but she could apply a bit of ointment with careful fingers. This was not the first scar on Ingrith’s arm, she noticed, as she told Ingrith to hold her arm up so she could clean and dress the wound. There was another fine scar running from her upper arm over her shoulder, light against the fair skin, and Lodr thought it very fitting. Ingrith was not soft and smooth. She was steeled, and her strong arms were all muscle beneath Lodr’s hands. Even though Lodr knew very well that strength alone would not protect anyone in battle, it was still reassuring, in a way.

After Lodr had dressed the wound, properly this time, tying the bandages tightly until Ingrith had clenched her teeth, Ingrith caught hold of her hand before Lodr could distance herself again.

“I thank you”, she said, earnestly, her clear eyes so unnerving and inescapably close as she smiled.

Lodr quickly withdrew, straightening her posture and masking her face with a practiced smile. “I am sure you would return the favour. I believe you put it quite succinctly - we have to watch each other’s backs.”

Ingrith grinned at that, and as Lodr turned to leave, her cheeks were still warm and the smile tugging on her lips not very practiced at all.


	3. Flesh Wound

It was but half a month later that Lodr wished she could have eaten her words again.

*

Spring had come, yet the war was still waging on.

On a bright afternoon, Lodr was part of a small troop of soldiers, both Nord and Imperials, scouting the woodland to secure the area. The mission was not particularly dangerous and rather tedious, but Lodr had a responsibility. A few weeks ago, she had been offered the position of second-in-command of the Nords stationed in the camp, and Lodr would not waste any opportunity to earn that title.

The sun was out in a vibrant blue sky and it was almost too warm for Lodr’s taste, much warmer than a cool early day of spring in Skyrim. Yet it was hard to be in a sour mood when Ingrith was with her. No complaints ever left Ingrith's lips, instead she urged the soldiers on, humming tunes of Nord legends and their battles, and her refusal to let her spirit sink was contagious.

In the last weeks, Ingrith had gravitated towards her, and to Lodr's surprise, she had not minded her company at all. By now, they often spent their nights playing dice, a game rather popular among the Imperial soldiers. Ingrith had insisted on not gambling for money but honour, yet still she did not seem to mind Lodr winning all that much. Even Lodr’s teasing did not ruffle her feathers, and Lodr remarking that if Ingrith kept playing like that, the war would cost the Fierce-Hearts more honour than it gained them, had made Ingrith laugh.

“You really have a sharp tongue”, Ingrith had said with a smile. “I like that more than your stiff niceties.”

Lodr had not quite known if she should be indignant about this observation, or flattered. But she liked those evenings of idle talk - they were a welcome distraction. Ingrith had to feel the same way. Her husband was now stationed a few miles from here, and Lodr knew that she was worried, despite her upbeat attitude.

Lodr had left all family at home and as much as she had sometimes missed their support, she was glad about it.

 

It was good to have Ingrith with her now. Lodr liked to have someone at her side who was reliable, and she hardly minded traversing the hills by foot when Ingrith was striding beside her. They were travelling lightly, since their first priority was to keep hidden. Their guides were Imperials who knew this area by heart, thus exploiting the one advantage they had by leading them on paths far from any road, between the grassy hills and trees, through places still unscathed by the war.

Still, even the warm sunlight falling through the trees could not make Lodr feel at ease. Peace would only find her again when she was back at home, in the safety of the stone walls, surrounded by the luxuries of warm fur, fine wine and good books. And she was right not to trust the peacefulness.

They had come to grove of ash and beech trees at the top of a small valley full of purple and white flowers dotting the dark green grass. At the valley's bottom, it stood so high they had to wade through it, yet they had only crossed it half-way, when a sudden cry rang out.

The soldiers had barely time to turn their heads and ready their shields at the Imperial officer’s command - already there was searing fire raining down upon them, burning through the trees and bushes. Quickly, the few battle mages that were accompanying them created a barrier, effectively protecting the soldiers against the exploding heat. Lodr could see tall figures moving beneath the trees, raising their glowing staffs, and a rain of ice shards hit the Imperial soldiers and Nord warriors, cutting through weakened spots of the barrier and shattering against steel armour.  
There was a short moment of silence, both sides waiting for the right moment to charge, but as they waited, their eyes searching the small forest, Lodr caught a movement in the branches.

“Ready your weapons! There are wood elves in the trees!”, she cried out, just as the Aldmeri soldiers attacked. Their ambush had been well-prepared, the arrows shot with skill from the wood elves’ bows providing them cover as they descended from the hills upon the trapped soldiers.

The wood elves must have been scouting this area for a while already, Lodr thought, but her revelation did not help her much now, caught as she was in the midst of the battle. She did not like fighting in close combat much, but when she readied her short and slender blade, flaxen hair caught her eye and she knew that Ingrith was fighting at her side. With a sudden certainty, Lodr was convinced that they could make it.

Their primary objective was to retreat from the place of ambush and break out over the hills into the open grass land. Yet they were not gaining ground fast enough, and the tall robed figures of the Aldmeri mages drew closer beneath the trees, their staffs glowing as they charged their spells. Altmer mages were skilled and feared, and even though Lodr’s leather armour had been enchanted to absorb some of the magic, she would rather prefer to face them with a bow and some distance between.

The Imperial troop had barely reached the hill top when they were struck by an attack of lightning. It hit Lodr entirely unprepared, sending her stumbling and faltering in her steps. White searing pain burned through her and her limbs were trembling beyond her control. Helpless, she clung to her sword, just as swift shadows dropped from the trees, effectively cutting their escape off.  
Lodr tried to raise her sword in defense as the Bosmer drew closer, their daggers long and sharp, yet her arm did not obey her and to her terror, no noise escaped her throat.  
There was a cry, loud and fierce, and as Lodr's vision cleared, she saw the tall silhouette of Ingrith standing in front of her, her wild, untamed hair flowing about her as she swung her sword in a wide circular motion to keep her enemies at bay. The wood elves were but half her size, but they were fast, and her two-handed sword did leave Ingrith open for quick attacks. To Lodr's horror, Ingrith did not even attempt to defend herself. Instead, she let them come, her blows aimed to cleave heads and crush bones, not to shield her body, but to bring down as many enemies as she could.

With quivering fingers, Lodr reached for her bow. It took all her focus to ready an arrow, and she clenched her teeth, willing her trembling arms to keep it still. Ingrith was cutting a breach through their enemies with crude, wide sweeps of her blade, her battle cries ringing out clear and terrible, and the Aldmeri soldiers backed away, despite her stumbling steps.

When the Imperials had made it down from the hills into the open meadows, Ingrith fell to her knees, and Lodr found her prayers answered as her arrows found their mark, warding off any elves keen to strike the deathly blow. As fast as her weakened legs would carry her, Lodr was by Ingrith’s side, lifting her up. Ingrith was still conscious, her ragged breaths loud in Lodr’s ear, as they made their way down the hill. Lodr’s knees almost gave in under Ingrith’s weight, her fingers were numb and her head light, but she saw the dark red stains on Ingrith’s hands and it spurred her on. Lodr could not allow herself to fail Ingrith now, her shieldsister, her only consort in this dire time. 

*

The healers’ tent was lit by two coal fires burning in the iron bowls at the entry and a few lanterns hanging from the wooden scaffolding. In the dim light, the sick turned and coughed on their mats on the ground. Lodr's hastened steps were followed by the hushed voices of the priests that tended the badly injured and deathly sick, but Lodr paid them little mind as she passed them by, until she finally found her.

Ingrith was lying on a sleeping roll made of leather, shivering under a worn, rough blanket. Her face was red, glowing with sweat in the flickering light of Lodr’s candle as she sat down on her knees beside her. It was a haunting sight. The flaxen hair was sticking to Ingrith’s feverish brow and her breath was labored, and Lodr could not at all reconcile this image with the Ingrith she had come to know – untouchable, unbreakable, never surrendering.

Lodr put the candle down and carefully laid a hand on Ingrith’s arm. The skin beneath the fabric was warm and damp, and Lodr was unpleasantly reminded of the blood seeping through the clothes between the gaps of the armour as she had half-carried Ingrith with staggering steps to safety. Now, Ingrith was burning beneath her touch and the inside of Lodr's stomach turned ice-cold as fear clutched her heart. Surely, the priests had done all they could with their little spells and potions, which meant that Ingrith was too far gone already and beyond their skills.

Without a second thought, Lodr hurried to the three priests that were keeping watch and demanded one of the best healers of the Emperor’s garrisons to be called here, as fast as possible. At first, they wanted to send her away, but Lodr was not so easily deterred. It took more than a family name to convince them, but finally, the promise of a position at the court of the High King did convince the youngest of the three that this was clearly the most urgent emergency at hand.

All night, Lodr stayed at Ingrith’s side or paced between the fires in front of the tent until in the early morning hours, the promised healer arrived. It was a Dunmer woman who did not waste any words, and though she had to be exhausted by her travel on horseback, she did not tarry long before seeking out the patient. Lodr kept hovering beside her, as the healer called upon Arkay’s assistance by burning dried herbs in his name. She shot Lodr a very cold glance when Lodr cleared her throat, about to remind her to hurry, and Lodr had to bite her lip to stay silent.  
After the preparation, the healer laid Ingrith’s wounds bare without further ado, and Lodr could not tear her eyes from the deep gashes at Ingrith’s side, dark with half-dried blood, swollen and festering. It was a gruesome sight. Lodr was used to injuries, flesh torn by blades and burned by magic. She had witnessed people die and had killed with both arrow and sword, but the sight of these wounds unsettled her to the core. 

Who knew what poisons the Bosmer tainted their blades with, and if the healer had arrived on time? Lodr clutched her arms tightly, condemned to watch the healer wash out Ingrith’s wounds before weaving her spells to stem the bloodflow and urging the flesh to knit together, to recover what had been spilled.  
Ingrith’s weak, pained groans made Lodr feel nauseous. This was wrong, she thought, over and over again. This was not supposed to happen. _S_ he would not accept it.

But there was nothing she could do except worry and fret, digging her nails into the soft skin of her arms that were covered with reddened fine lines from the lightning that had brought her down. Ingrith had saved her, and the guilt was as heavy as lead in her guts.

The healer took her leave once the wounds were cleaned and dressed and Lodr was left to stay at Ingrith’s bedside, distressed and helpless. The entire day, she kept herself occupied by arranging the blankets and snapping at the priests when they occasionally checked on Ingrith. When no one was around, Lodr found herself talking under her breath, berating Ingrith for her foolishness to ease her anxious mind and her own crushing feeling of guilt.

“I told you not to charge right in, did I not? But did you listen? Of course, you did not. See what good it did you. Your husband will be delighted”, Lodr said with as much admonishment as she could muster. “And your little girl at home, well, I’m sure she-…”

The words stuck in her throat as a slight movement caught her attention. Ingrith had opened her eyes, their gaze hazy, but unmistakably on her.

More accusations burnt on Lodr’s tongue, but as relief flooded over her, she could voice none of them. Instead, all she could manage was a very unbefitting, strangled noise.

Ingrith’s hand was trembling as she tried to move it, and Lodr quickly held it in place.  
“Don’t move”, she said, glad to be able to reprimand her again.

Ingrith’s fingers closed around hers, their grip weak, and Lodr found herself clinging on to them.  
“Good to see you.” Ingrith’s voice was a hoarse whisper, but there was the shadow of a grin on her lips. Never had a smile been so allevating, even though Ingrith's eyes betrayed how exhausted she was, the dark rims beneath standing out against the sickly pale skin.  
Lodr cleared her throat in an effort to calm herself, before she found her words again. “Don’t talk now. Get some rest.”

There was more that she wanted to say, but words would not come, so she held onto the cold fingers as if in an attempt to warm them, until sleep finally started to overcome her and she was urged by one of the priests to get a bit of rest herself.


End file.
